The Official Day of Victory
by Inkstained Scarlet
Summary: The celebrations in the aftermath of war... a little HD fluff. Oneshot.


The whirlwind of the dance floor had never held any appeal for Draco. Yes, as a member of the aristocracy he'd been subjected to it for years, expected to dance and offer small-talk and smile politely at people who might, at some point in the future, be expected to further his prospects. But dancing under duress is very different from making the choice yourself. And the company had to be good – which it certainly wasn't tonight. It seemed half the seventh years had disappeared without a trace (the better half, mind you) and he was left with the dregs of the school to celebrate the first official evening of freedom. Of course, the Dark Lord had been vanquished a week and a half ago, but today was the official Day of Victory.

Draco smiled, remembering the time when he had been unsure where his loyalties lay. The smile became a distinct smirk as he recalled the day Harry had come to him, offering him pretty much everything he ever wanted in return for allowing himself to be saved. Draco remembered the way Harry had offered him his hand, just as Draco had in their first year, and how, after only a moment's hesitation, Draco had taken it. He remembered the terrible arguments over the next few weeks, with Harry trying desperately and with more and more ferocity to make the Order of the Phoenix see that Draco wasn't a bad person, had never really wanted to follow You Know Who. He remembered the acceptance he had felt when Molly Weasley had first hugged him and offered him seconds at dinner. He remembered the shivers down his spine when Harry first touched his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes… and he remembered the burning passion he had felt when Harry first kissed him, first held him _like that. _

The memory was almost enough to make up for the awful music that was assaulting his ears and the even worse dancing he was being forced to watch. If he was honest, what he really wanted to do was sneak out of the Great Hall, back down to the dungeons, hide behind his covers and read a good book. But he'd promised Harry he'd be at the celebration for _at least _a couple of hours. Draco wasn't exactly sure why, but Harry had been persistent and Draco, reluctant to argue with his victory-high boyfriend, had agreed without too much of a fuss. Harry wasn't at the school; he'd been told he had to attend the 'official' party in London and had been personally invited by the Minister. It was supposed to be a sign of gratitude, to demonstrate how thankful the wizarding community was for everything Harry had done for them.

Draco smirked to himself and flicked his blond hair out of his (slightly troubled) eyes. He recalled that little over a week ago the medics had been unsure that Harry would ever regain consciousness. Nobody knew what had gone on in the Department of Mysteries; the only people who'd been there were the recently deceased Voldemort and Harry, who refused to speak about the matter. His unexpected recovery was sudden and inexplicable. The medics had been concerned about Harry's mental condition, were he ever to wake up. Would he remember anything? Would he still be the same person? Would he have suffered brain damage? One look into Harry's conscious eyes had told Draco three things. One; Harry remembered everything. Two: He wasn't ready to tell anyone, and possibly never would be. And three; he still loved Draco. If the ministry thought that a four course meal and a little live music were thanks enough for what they'd put an seventeen year old through, they needed to get their ideas sorted out.

But such memories still left Draco in the dark with regards to why Harry wanted him here tonight. Most people outside the Order (and a fair few within) still distrusted Draco and would have been happier with him absent. There was no argument in the idea that Harry wanted Draco there as a representative of himself, because no one knew about their relationship except Hermione and Ron. Ah well, thinking it over wasn't going to do any good. Glancing at the clock, Draco decided he'd stay another ten minutes then he'd have done what he was asked to do and could leave guilt-free.

The ten minutes were mostly spent watching the second hand on the clock tick around monstrously slowly. When he only had thirty seconds to go, Draco got up and began to walk over to the door, surreptitiously avoiding anyone who might feel an obligation to engage him in idle conversation. Making a sidestep into the shadows to avoid Remus Lupin (whom Draco had begrudgingly grown to admire) he felt a familiar hand touch the small of his back and another gently take hold of his arm. He smiled and let his head tilt back slightly then turned and found himself in Harry's arms.

'Leaving so soon?' Harry asked gently, pulling Draco closer. Wrapping his arms around Harry's neck, Draco smiled softly.

'I thought you were supposed to be living it up in London?' He asked.

'I was,' Came the reply, 'but I never intended to stay for long. Why did you think I asked you to be here?'

'Because you're a bastard who thinks it's funny to see me suffer?' Draco offered. Harry made a tsk noise with his tongue.

'You don't believe that. Actually, I wanted you to be here because I thought this was as good a time as any to tell the world that we're together. I'm sick of hiding in the shadows. And besides,' Harry looked Draco up and down flirtatiously, 'you're much too pretty to stay in the dark.'

'You're serious?' Draco asked, 'You really do want people to know?' Harry's eyes clouded with confusion.

'Yeah, I do. Why, don't you want to tell them?' He sounded vaguely hurt, and Draco replied swiftly;

'Of course I do! It's just that… what with the things people think of me… you know.' He spoke falteringly, and tore his gaze from Harry's to stare at the floor. Harry lifted a hand to Draco's face and lifted it to look at him fiercely.

'You're not what they think you are. And I don't care if the world hates you. I love you Draco Malfoy, and I'm going to show the world.'

With no further ado, Harry took Draco's hand in his and pulled him firmly towards the dance floor. Reaching the centre (having amassed a certain amount of curious spectators) Harry pulled Draco into his arms and they began to dance. There were no fireworks, and Harry had never learnt any fancy moves, but their bodies fitted together well and they looked comfortable with the touch of each other. There was startled muttering from most places in the room, and half the band had stopped playing in order to watch with wide eyes. The saviour of the wizarding world, happy in the embrace of a Death Eater's son. It was quite the unexpected spectacle.

When the singer finally realised that her band weren't playing at all, she gave up, and in the silence that followed, Harry, never taking his arm from around Draco's waist, looked defiantly at the crowd around him and said;

'This is Draco Malfoy. I love him.' And with that, he leaned in and kissed Draco, slowly and softly, a kiss full of tender affection and perhaps a little promise of what was to come. The murmuring that had accompanied their dance had vanished and silence greeted this new development. Then someone (quite possible Seamus) gave a catcall and began applauding. Others took up the idea until a raucous of admiration filled the room. Pulling back from Draco, Harry grinned at him, and then pulled him into a tight embrace as the music started again, and people began to go back to their own lives. Draco nuzzled Harry's cheek for a moment, then kissed his ear and whispered;

'And I love you, Harry Potter. So can we leave now?'


End file.
